


Gliding Into My Heart

by cx_shhhh



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Language, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, figure skating AU, it's brief though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27607987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cx_shhhh/pseuds/cx_shhhh
Summary: Grantaire is trying to get back into the senior figure skating circuits, and his rapidly growing crush on Enjolras, ice dance champion, is getting a little out of hand.
Relationships: Bahorel/Feuilly (Les Misérables), Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 64
Kudos: 81





	1. Ice to Meet You

**Author's Note:**

> The figure skating AU that I've talked about a lot. This fic is largely dedicated to the [hoes for enjolras](https://discord.com/invite/vERrqvA) server on Discord because they're all lovely people.
> 
> A tiny disclaimer: I tried doing as much research as possible, so if I got something wrong, please just leave a comment.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire and Enjolras meet for the first time at the Junior Grand Prix Finals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to [Jolee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarkestnightwillend/pseuds/thedarkestnightwillend) for being an amazing person!

The air whooshes in Grantaire’s ears as he pulls his leg tighter to his body, effectively spinning in a donut shape. With practiced ease, he transitions into the second half of his spin, barely hearing the dramatic ending of his program music over the sound of his heartbeat. Only a few seconds later, he’s still, one arm extended upward in his final pose. He stands like that for a second, catching his breath. The gel attempting to hold back Grantaire’s hair gives up, causing his curls to flop over his forehead. Finally breaking out of his trance, Grantaire bows to the judges and his audience, grinning as he watches all the cat plushies hit the ice.

It’s a Thing (with a capital “T”) for his fans to bring him cat plushies because of the five kittens that frequently make appearances on all of Grantaire’s social media platforms. With how many trips he makes for competitions, he misses his kittens, and these plushies are cute anyway. He quickly snags one from the ice and waves at the collectors darting past him to collect the rest. The announcer makes himself known while Grantaire slides to the boards. He knows his free skate was good, amazing even. Enough to put him on the podium at his third Junior Grand Prix Final.

As Grantaire exits the rink, he slides on his skate guards, clutches a cat plushie tightly to his chest, and makes his way to the kiss and cry. Coach Valjean pats his back along the way and offers him a smile. While he waits for his scores, Grantaire scrolls through Instagram and likes a few cat posts. Feeling someone’s heavy gaze on him, he looks up from his phone and manages to make immediate eye contact with one of the ice dancers on the French team. _Éponine_ , Grantaire’s mind helpfully supplies. She’s talented. Confident in her discipline and undoubtedly going to make it to the Olympics with her partner… Enjolras.

Of course Enjolras would also be in the stands. Just a year younger, Enjolras easily gets gold at every event he participates in. Grantaire would know. He’s watched the reruns of all the ice dance competitions on YouTube religiously, skipping over all those Russians with their perfectly programmed lifts and stopping when he glimpses blond hair and blue eyes. It’s truly a wonder how Enjolras manages to even lift Éponine in their programs with how deceptively thin his arms seem. He looks like he could be knocked over by a gust of wind with how gangly of a fifteen-year-old he is.

Grantaire stares into the stands for a while longer, looking down too quickly to notice Éponine nudging her partner and Enjolras’s stern gaze. (He’s also too serious for a goddamn teenager.) Grantaire clenches his tracksuit jacket between his fingers and resolutely refuses to look anywhere but forward until his scores, and ultimately the final ranking, are announced.

Valjean pushes Grantaire’s shoulder and points at the scoreboard as the announcer starts talking.

Grantaire peeks through his fingers before they fall into his lap, taking his jaw along with them. He thinks he needs his eyes checked because he's surely reading the scoreboard wrong. His hideous first name followed by a large number he doesn’t process and a tiny “1”. Hands pressed to his mouth, he nearly bursts into tears as he hugs his coach. Grantaire thinks he can hear Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta cheering for him back in Lyon. There’s nothing as exhilarating as winning gold at any event, and he starts trembling in his skates. He squeezes the cat plushie in his arms and blows an unnecessarily flamboyant kiss to the audience. 

Almost as soon as he reaches the entrance to the locker rooms, a flying bundle leaps into his arms, causing him to drop his plushie. Cosette, female singles skater and foster daughter of Coach Valjean, congratulates him with squeals that pierce his eardrums.

“Hey, ‘Sette.”

“R! Congrats! I knew you could do it!”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough attention,” Grantaire mock gripes. He hasn’t forgotten the medal ceremony, and he needs a moment to recalibrate. Time passes quickly while Cosette chatters about the other skaters and Strauss’s _Don Juan_ is still stuck in Grantaire’s head. Finally, Grantaire is dragged upright and gently pushed toward the rink’s entrance again. The medal ceremony always seems to take way too long, and he awkwardly stands behind the other medalists.

Grantaire makes a little trip around the rink and waves at the audience before shaking hands with a lot of people. Graciously, he nods at all the executives and receives the medal and flowers before straightening. Almost immediately, his eyes land on a head full of golden curls in the crowd, and he stumbles a bit on the podium. It’s like Grantaire’s gaze will always be drawn toward Enjolras, like a sunflower to the sun. His breath hitches for a moment, and he’s forced to look away, breaking that moment. Grantaire puts on a winning (literally) smile for all the photographers, holding his medal in one hand and a giant bouquet of flowers in the other.

A few hours and many interviews later, Grantaire is back at the rink to watch the free dance. Cosette settles down next to him a few minutes after he chooses a spot in the stands. Similar to his YouTube marathons, he zones out and back in right in time for the announcer to announce, “Last to skate, from France, please welcome Éponine Thénardier and Julien Enjolras!”

Grantaire watches with bated breath as Éponine and Enjolras twirl flawlessly on the ice in time to their music. Twizzles seem to come naturally to the pair, and it’s almost as if they’re operating on the same wavelength. The lifts are gorgeous and unique, Enjolras somehow managing to hold his partner upright while skating at a dizzying speed. Grantaire almost can’t keep up with the pair when they pull into a spin together, Enjolras just a blur of black and Éponine, a blur in purple.

All too soon, the program is over, and Grantaire releases his breath. Cosette elbows him and grins slyly, causing Grantaire to let out a little “hmph” and pout while crossing his arms.

“That was gorgeous wasn’t it?” Cosette asks, like he wasn’t completely entranced by the whole thing anyway.

“Hngggg.”

Grantaire feels his hair depress and peers through his curls to see Cosette patting his head. He buries his face in his arms, disregarding the weird looks from everyone around them, and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, _“Enjolras looks like an avenging angel.”_

“There, there.”

* * *

“That went well,” Enjolras mutters to Éponine as they grab their skate guards. Technically, it did go well. But Enjolras just feels as if there’s something lacking in that performance, in all of their performances. He’s been ice dance partners with Éponine since day one and they’ve trained together for many years. Before that, skating was the one thing that kept him grounded even if it made him feel like he was flying. One could say that he loves the ice as much as it loves him. The feeling of emptiness still niggles at the back of his brain.

Enjolras doesn’t feel nearly as offended as he should when Éponine sighs at him. She’s going through an “emo phase” like many fourteen-year-olds do, and exasperation at Enjolras and literally everyone else is apparently a defining characteristic.

“What’s the worst that could happen? The United States beating us?” Éponine shrugs as she reaches up and flicks Enjolras’s forehead. (Yeah, she’s allowed to do that too. Especially because she’s like the pesky younger sister that Enjolras never had.)

Enjolras, trying to come up with a witty response, nearly crashes into Coach Lamarque. The severe-looking man drops hands on both their shoulders and nods.

“Congratulations, you two. Combining your free dance with your rhythm dance ranking, I’m sure you will medal.”

Immediately, Enjolras and Éponine both straighten and pull on their tracksuits. As expected, they don’t only medal, but win gold. Their technical elements were perfect after all, something not many people see in the junior circuits. Éponine offhandedly remarks, “France is winning a lot this season.”

Enjolras instantly thinks about one Louis Grantaire, who has an abhorrent first name, and wonders about the color of his eyes.

“France should win a lot _every season_.”

Enjolras walks to the locker rooms to grab his water bottle, and amidst chugging water, he feels himself bump into someone. As if by instinct, he reaches an arm out and catches whoever he bumped into by the waist in a near perfect hold. Setting down his water bottle, Enjolras is really glad he swallowed his water before whatever maneuver just happened. _Speak of the devil_. At least Enjolras knows that Grantaire’s eyes are blue now. And his face is really red. Enjolras offhandedly thinks it’s rather cute.

“Hi,” Grantaire squeaks, trying to cover his face with his hands. Enjolras doesn’t even get the chance to set him properly upright before Grantaire dashes away in the direction of the stands. He’s left staring at the head of dark curls that bounce with every step. Enjolras shakes his head and picks up his water bottle again just in time to catch up with Éponine and Coach Lamarque.

Éponine elbows him and snarks, “What took you so long?”

Enjolras ruffles Éponine’s hair and sticks his tongue out at her in response, ultimately deciding that his crash into Grantaire was not important enough that he shouldn’t mention it to her. It lasted for barely a second after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terminology in this chapter:  
> The boards - the walls surrounding the rink  
> Kiss and cry - where skaters receive their scores and kiss or cry... or both  
> Twizzles - synchronous twirling that travels across the ice  
> Lifts - acrobatic moves in which the guy lifts the girl, and they get scored based on how unique they are


	2. Out of Ice-olation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire is going to Paris!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to [Pao](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Betyouwatchthesunsettoo/pseuds/Betyouwatchthesunsettoo) for being sweet and lovely.

Grantaire yawns and pulls his fluffy blanket over his head, curling tightly into a ball around one of his cats. Five years ago, the cats were all kittens, and now he floods Instagram with cat pictures. Before he can doze off again, a voice that is much too cheerful interrupts the fuzzy cloud in his brain.

“Rise and shine, R! Today is the day!” Joly throws the blanket off of Grantaire, exposing his kitten pajamas for the world to see. “We need to get going, else we won’t get to Paris in time!”

Grantaire grumbles grumpily and grudgingly gets up, thinking that his friend is being much too cheerful at the asscrack of dawn. It’s probably not really the asscrack of dawn anymore if the light filtering through the window is anything to go by. Speaking of windows, he will definitely miss their quaint apartment in Lyon where it’s basically walking distance to the rink. Instead, transferring to his new coach in the bustling city after taking a break from skating for a year will be a noisier wakeup call than Joly’s.

Bossuet and Musichetta are already in the kitchen when Grantaire stumbles in. Musichetta pinches his cheek before handing him a cup of coffee. He half-heartedly shoos her hand away, but really, he’s a sucker for all sorts of affection. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta, backstage team extraordinaire and Grantaire’s personal emotional support, are always happy to lay on the cuddles. After a figure skating incident years ago, Joly will never step foot on the ice again, and Grantaire would pity him, but Joly is both happy and satisfied as a medic. Bossuet is a miracle of a disaster on a good day with both feet planted solidly on the ground, so putting him in skates on a slippery surface is just a double whammy nobody wants to deal with. He gives some of the best hugs, though, so Grantaire isn’t complaining at all. Musichetta is like a mother, and sometimes, Grantaire jokingly calls her accordingly, in the fondest manner. Her costume designs are the absolute best (even if the pants are sometimes a little too tight), and Grantaire learned everything he knows about baking from her.

Grantaire sips his coffee and pets Fluffy and Liberté while the rest of the boxes get packed up. A picture gets posted to Instagram with the caption, “Headed somewhere new!” featuring his messy hair tucked under a beanie and blue eyes in the midst of an eyeroll. He breathes in the musty air of the apartment one last time and then turns back to his friends, a new smile on his face.

“Well? What are we waiting for? A formal invitation? A hot chauffeur in a black suit who’ll refer to me only as ‘Monsieur Grantaire-’”

Bossuet tackles him to the ground, nearly scraping his knees in the process. Grantaire giggles and pulls him upright, sauntering over to the entrance. The four humans and five cats all pile into the car and begin the drive to Paris.

A week later, after getting situated in their new apartment, which is exponentially smaller than their last, Grantaire heads to the ice rink in Paris for the first time. He feels a bit like a child again, about to meet a new teacher. At twenty-one years, Grantaire shouldn’t be trembling at all, with years and years of skating experience. Coach Valjean back in Lyon was good, but eventually, Grantaire got too used to him. He felt as if Valjean was no longer pushing him to his limits and becoming lenient with him. Grantaire doesn’t want to think about his last season at all, with his barely adequate jumps and spins. His one-year hiatus from skating left him a little out of shape too, and under his shirt, if he stares at himself in the mirror long enough, he could see a bit of pooch on his belly.

Grantaire shakes his head to rid any self-deprecating thoughts and steps through the sliding glass doors of the rink. Immediately, he feels the familiar chill of the ice and even revels in the distinct smell of rubber that all rinks seem to have. Checking in, he locates the tall man with the long gray hair and introduces himself. Coach Lamarque looks much stricter than any of his previous coaches, and Grantaire hopes he doesn’t come off as too scared. To his absolute relief, Lamarque offers a smile and a hand to shake.

“Ah, Grantaire, nice to have you back.”

“It’s nice to be back, sir.”

“Please. Call me Lamarque. Or Coach. Only the ISU executives call me ‘sir’ or anything of the sort.”

Grantaire suddenly feels any nerves he previously had evaporate and grins widely, “Okay then. I’m R.”

“Show us what you got, R.”

After tying up his skates, Grantaire approaches the edge of the rink, skidding to a halt when he notices the two figures already skating in it. He really wants to leave now.

“Louis Grantaire. I almost didn’t recognize you with the scruff. I suppose it’s been a while,” Éponine greets as she stops at the entrance with a whoosh and a scrape of her skates.

Grantaire raises a hand to his cheek at the mention of his facial hair. Usually he shaves for competition to apply his makeup, but he’s gotten lazy about it as of recently.

“Er, hello. Please don’t use my first name. It’s really weird.”

Éponine smiles like a shark and pulls Grantaire onto the ice. She hollers, “Hey, Enjolras! Get your fine ass over here!”

Grantaire flushes as Enjolras approaches and vaguely notices how much of a difference five years can make. Enjolras still has the same shining blond hair and piercing blue eyes, but he had clearly grown out of his twig-like body and filled out to match his height. His shoulders are much broader, tapering down into a narrow waist, and to Grantaire’s great chagrin, he is also wearing a short-sleeved shirt that strains against his arms, which actually look strong enough to lift Éponine.

Grantaire can feel Enjolras’s heavy stare on him and forces himself to meet his eyes. He stutters, “H-hi. I’m R.”

Enjolras takes a moment to respond, as if he’s tossing Grantaire’s nickname around in that gorgeous head of his.

“Enjolras. Welcome to Paris. I hope our rink lives up to your apparently high standards long enough for you to stay.”

Grantaire slides backwards, feeling chastised. Éponine’s head snaps to her partner, and she frowns. Not wanting to be caught in the middle of a feud between the two, Grantaire mumbles, “Okay. I’ll just warm up.”

He turns away quickly enough that he doesn’t get to witness Éponine elbow Enjolras in the ribs while Enjolras looks like he wants to eat his own words. For once.

* * *

Enjolras has every desire to bonk his head against the walls of the rink. The one person he wants the least to make a fool of himself in front of just happened to witness him make a fool of himself. They haven’t seen each other since that one Junior Grand Prix Final five years ago as teenagers, and Enjolras even gave up the notion of ever talking to him again until he heard from various news sources that Grantaire was going to make a comeback after disappearing from the face of the Earth after his less than pleasing last performance.

All Enjolras was doing was minding his own business (for once) and of course,  _ of course _ , the one person he had ever obsessed over from the remainder of his teenage years appeared in front of him. He sighs and glides over to where Courfeyrac is spinning aimlessly in circles. Courfeyrac has been Enjolras’s best friend on the ice since they were babies falling on their asses for the first time. He’s also dating their music arranger, Combeferre, and Enjolras’s other best friend. Enjolras would find it potentially awkward, but they never leave him out of anything, even when he’s obviously cock-blocking them.

Courfeyrac is tiny. That’s all. He skates with a speed that’s unparalleled, and spins even faster, somehow. He’s shorter than Grantaire, and Enjolras could probably pick him up with one hand… and now Enjolras is wondering if he can potentially lift Grantaire. Courfeyrac is like a firecracker, and he speaks to Enjolras like one too.

“Enjolras! I see you’ve finally met our newest recruit! You’ve always been so busy skating in circles with Éponine that Lamarque didn’t get a chance to talk to you about Grantaire.”

Enjolras winces and replies, “Erm, yeah. I didn’t exactly make a good second impression either.”

Courfeyrac slips backward before he manages to catch himself. “Second? Am I missing something, Enj?”   
  


“I sorta bumped into him at the Junior Grand Prix Final like five years ago? Literally, too. He squeaked adorably and ran away before I could get a word in.”

“Adorable, huh?”

The glimmer in Courfeyrac’s eyes speaks misfortune for Enjolras. Everybody who follows figure skating gossip knows about his romantic tendencies, and while he has a kind and hot boyfriend of his own, Courfeyrac is always on the lookout for partners for his own friends. Enjolras has unfortunately been on the receiving end of these shenanigans more times than he’d like, and they have always ended with the other party apologizing and leaving early because the conversation always loops to two topics: politics and skating. They’re totally valid topics for discussion! Besides, Enjolras knows for a fact they just agreed on those dates because of his looks and fame rather than the promise of listening to his hour long spiel about how ice dance is actually very different from pairs skating. He knows what he looks like (because the comments on the YouTube streams and interviews are very informative), and he knows how many gold medals sit in the box in his room. He just wishes people would look past that.

Leaning against the board, Enjolras watches with awe as Lamarque puts Grantaire through a simple step sequence. The way Grantaire moves is fluid, but still solid, keeping him grounded. When Lamarque asks him to perform an Axel, Enjolras holds his breath and only releases it when Grantaire’s skates are safely on the ice again. Enjolras definitely doesn’t watch the way his butt is emphasized when he swings his leg out to come out of the jump. Definitely not.

Grantaire glides gracefully over to where his water bottle is, executing a perfect stop when he reaches the boards. Enjolras’s heart twists at how his shirt lifts and exposes a tiny sliver of soft skin when he raises his arm to take a drink. He takes this opportunity to attempt to make amends for their less-than-pleasant first  _ actual  _ interaction.

For the first time, Enjolras finds himself fishing for words, which must be why he stands there awkwardly watching Grantaire drink his water.

“Um, did you need anything?” Grantaire asks hesitantly when he finally sets his bottle down. Enjolras shakes out of his stupor. 

“Sorry. I just wanted to apologize for how my statement was completely uncalled for, and if you’d like me to stay on the other side of the rink for the rest of my life, so you wouldn’t have to ever talk to me again, I would be okay with it.”

Grantaire is now staring at him with wide blue eyes. “Oh. There’s no need for that. And don’t worry about it. I probably deserved that reality check too.”

Enjolras glares emphatically at him and says, “No. I was unnecessarily rude, and you are a valuable skater. I just don’t have a filter around Éponine, especially when I had to give as good as I got during her ‘edgy’ teenager era. Not that that’s an excuse, by the way.”

A laugh bubbles out of Grantaire, and Enjolras’s face relaxes at the sound. It’s soft and full of delight, and it makes him fight the urge to wrap Grantaire in a fuzzy blanket. Enjolras can’t seem to tear his eyes away from his face at that moment either, so instead, he smiles like a dork and sticks his hand out like one too.

“I’m Enjolras. Welcome to Paris.”

Grantaire’s answering grin can light up the entire rink.

“A pleasure to meet you. You can call me R.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terminology in this chapter:  
> ISU - The International Skating Union, the governing body for all skating disciplines  
> ISU Junior/Grand Prix of Figure Skating - a series of junior and senior international figure skating competitions organized by the ISU  
> Axel - figure skating's oldest and most difficult jump, notable by its forward takeoff


	3. Breaking the Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire gets situated in Paris, and his "little crush" is now pretty much a "full-blown crush".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to [Iman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avengingwinter/pseuds/avengingwinter) for being nice and talented.

To say Grantaire is smitten would be a massive understatement. It’s just his luck that he had been insulted and praised by Enjolras within the span of one hour. Whiplash would only begin to describe how he’s feeling at this point. Maybe he did feel a bit embarrassed at how Enjolras didn’t even bother to sugarcoat his initial greeting, but Grantaire wants so desperately to forget that and latch onto how he felt bad enough to approach him to apologize and how warm Enjolras’s hand was.

Grantaire supposes it’s just a fact like any other. Enjolras is great at skating, Enjolras is the most handsome person Grantaire has ever met, and Enjolras has warm hands. Briefly, he wonders how many people know that fact and ultimately decides to keep it to himself because it’s a bit creepy to obsess over it. As he does perfect crossovers across the ice, first forwards and then backwards, towards the left and then switching directions, he feels a warmth blossom in his chest, and he vehemently denies that it’s anything other than exercise causing it.

After his practice session, Éponine quickly latches onto his arm and drags him to the corner of the rink. That’s one thing Grantaire quickly learns about her. She seems to act first and talk later and loves dragging people places. Maybe that’s why she makes such a good team with Enjolras.

“R, this is Courfeyrac. I guess you’ll be competing against him occasionally, but that’s not important.”

Grantaire looks at the man in question and gives a shy smile accompanied by an awkward wave. Courfeyrac’s eyes gleam, and he suddenly feels the irrational urge to be scared of this tiny person.

“Courf, at your service. Love your Instagram. Your eyes are even more gorgeous up close,” he says, smiling brightly and bouncing slightly in his skates into Grantaire's personal bubble.

“O-oh, thank you? It’s nice to meet you too,” Grantaire replies, blushing slightly at the compliment. He presses his hands to his flaming cheeks, trying to avoid eye contact.

“Enjo was right, you  _ are _ adorable!” Courfeyrac exclaims, and Grantaire tilts his head in confusion.

“He talks about me? What else does he say? Wait, that’s not important. I think he’s a great skater, and I think you are great too.”

Courfeyrac gives him a hug and a little pat on the head before waving at him and Éponine and skating away. Éponine had been watching the entire exchange with a sly expression on her face.

“Not important, huh?” she says with a smirk and a nudge to Grantaire’s side. “I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

“What? Oh, please don’t. He probably thinks I’m a fool already, and I don’t want him to also think that I don’t care for what he talks about,” Grantaire pleads. Éponine’s expression softens, and she lays a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’re the last person he would think to be a fool. Now, show me this Instagram of yours. I need cat pictures, pronto.”

With that, Éponine takes hold of Grantaire’s wrist and hands him his skate guards, barely giving him half a minute to slide them on. Then she spends a good few minutes scrolling through all the cat pictures and cooing at the occasional few with Grantaire in it. He blushes with every single “aww” that leaves Éponine’s mouth. Once his notifications have been thoroughly spammed, she takes him to some hole-in-the-wall café called The Musain and buys them lunch. Grantaire tells her all about Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta and what he did during his year off the ice. He talks about briefly becoming an alcoholic, deciding that keeping that up was too exhausting, and giving up on that too with the help of his friends through his depressive phase.

“The senior circuits are nothing like the junior ones,” Grantaire mumbles. “There are way too many Russians and Japanese.”

Éponine nods emphatically. “Oh definitely. A lot of them happen to be in pairs, so Enj and I are mildly safe. But that Canadian team beat us by a large margin last season.”

Grantaire chews his sandwich thoughtfully and replies, “It seems like no matter what, there will always be someone better than me. I suppose that’s the point of competition, though. I’ll try not to give up like last time.”

Éponine squeezes his hand, offering a smile that doesn’t look as predatory as the one she had initially greeted him with and says, “That’s the spirit! I think you should tell me all about what you’re planning for your costume. In fact, if you don’t wear leather to show off that skating butt of yours for the exhibition gala, we will all be deprived of a glorious moment.”

“The exhibition is only for medalists, ‘Ponine. Anyway, ‘Chetta said green, but I’m partial to black, myself.”

The next morning, Grantaire gets up bright and early, which is definitely an anomaly for him, in time for what he hopes would be an efficient ballet session. Bahorel, whom he’d met a while back, owns the studio next to the rink, and Grantaire is sure he’ll become a regular sooner or later. Before figure skating, he was a dedicated little danseur, and even after starting serious training on ice, he would still take lessons to maintain his flexibility and agility. However, taking that year-long break meant very little activity, and Grantaire sees the squish on his tummy every morning that hides what used to be his abs.

Slipping on a dance belt and tights makes him feel a bit self-conscious, but with close to nobody around, he gets put through all sorts of warm-ups and exercises, Bahorel being a strict yet encouraging teacher. Grantaire’s body gradually loosens and twists like he would on ice, and he knows that he’ll be sore all over tomorrow.

As Grantaire slides into the splits, Bahorel asks, “How’s Paris so far? Meet any cute girls or guys or others recently?”

“Uh, what?” Grantaire asks back, caught off guard.

“C’mon, R. You’ve been here long enough to meet people, I’m sure, and it’s a big city. I met Feuilly days after opening this studio.”

Grantaire tilts his head in confusion, “Feuilly?”

Bahorel joins Grantaire on the floor, and replies, “My boyfriend. And generally the costume designer for Lamarque’s people. Enjolras actually introduced us, y’know.”

“Ah. Enjolras. He seems to get around.”

“Yeah. He’s some sort of social justice warrior. The whole ‘tall, blond, and handsome’ vibe while trying to convince the ISU to change their rules and stuff. Actually, Feuilly told me that Enjolras managed to get them to allow women to wear trousers for the rhythm dance, which we’ll probably see this season.”

Grantaire tries in vain to fight off a smile. He ducks his head to hide his blush, allowing his curls to flop over his eyes.

“That does sound like him.”

* * *

A week later, Enjolras has his head pillowed on his arms back in the apartment he shares with Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Combeferre is sitting across the table from him while sipping at his tea and clicking away at his computer.

“So, Enj, what music are you feeling for this season?” Combeferre asks, peering at him from above his laptop’s screen.

“I dunno. I think ‘Ponine needs to be here too, right?”

“She mentioned something about taking a peek at Grantaire’s costume. Apparently, Musichetta does some interesting work.”

Enjolras perks up at the mention of Grantaire’s name. A thought strikes him.

“Wait, aren’t you arranging his program music too?”

“Yes. His and Courf’s and yours,” Combeferre mutters as he drains the rest of his tea and slumps. Enjolras gives his back an awkward pat.

“So… how’s the progress on that?”

“Progress? What progress? I just know that R wants something dramatic yet comedic. Have you seen his last season in the junior circuits? That’s the vibe, I think.”

Enjolras pointedly does not meet Combeferre’s questioning gaze. “Oh, really? Huh, interesting.”

“Mm. Anyway, back to you.”

Enjolras taps his chin, thinking hard. Usually, Lamarque would be the one getting on his ass about programming, but Enjolras has been with him since his early teens, and Lamarque trusts him to make wise decisions about music and details that aren’t choreography on his own.

“Okay, well, there are requirements and stuff that we have to follow for the rhythm dance, obviously, so we’ll probably just choose some tango that fits them all.”

Combeferre frowns, “You can’t ‘just choose some tango’, Enj. It’s all about the musicality and character. In the past, I’ve given you music that you’ve skated to without any complaint. Y’know, I want  _ you _ to pick the music this time. You and Éponine both. Literally, do my job for me except I’ll still get paid.”

Enjolras opens his mouth and then closes it with a snap. He muses over this concept and hums, agreeing with his friend. He may have ignored it in the past, what with dismissing it all when his and Éponine’s scores won them gold in the junior circuits while relying heavily on their technical skills at Four Continents and Worlds. Enjolras knows their technique is near perfect, and from skating with Éponine for over a decade now, they’re as in touch with each other as any ice dance team should be.

“Well, we still need a tango for the rhythm dance, so I’ll just see if ‘Ponine has an ideas,” Enjolras starts, “and for the free dance, we can do something from a musical or whatever.”

Combeferre sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose, likely done with Enjolras’s lack of enthusiasm. “‘Something from a musical or whatever,’ he says. I just don’t get how you can be so good at skating, so in love with it, yet I feel like you contain yourself in this tight little box of technique and never really let go.”

“Hmm. Do go on.”

“I mean, I’m no Coach Lamarque, but I think you can definitely take some artistic liberties and maybe even learn a little from Grantaire,” Combeferre holds up a hand to stop Enjolras before he can interrupt and continues, “Yes, I know you two compete in totally different disciplines, but you’re allowed more expression than you think the judges want.”

The corner of Enjolras’s lips lift in a smirk, and he swats at Combeferre’s head but still takes the advice into careful consideration. Combeferre might not be a skater, but he’s hung around them for so long that he’s just steps away from becoming one. Well, except for the fact that he has to clutch Courfeyrac’s hand every time they manage to coerce him into public skating sessions.

“Either way, Enj, you need to wear red.”

Enjolras looks up from where he was texting Éponine and rolls his eyes, “Well, duh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terminology in this chapter:  
> Crossovers - a basic stroking technique in figure skating for gaining impetus while skating along a curve or circle  
> Exhibition gala - an event after the competitions in which the medalists perform a program without being burdened by rules  
> Rhythm/short dance - each team performs a required pattern from one of the pattern dances for about half the dance, then performs original choreography, with some required elements, to a theme or rhythm specified by the ISU


	4. Sp-icing Things Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Costume fitting can literally be a pain in the ass for Grantaire. Unless his friends are there with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to [CM](https://ourhufflepufffangirl.tumblr.com/) for being fun to talk to.

Grantaire knows it might have been a bad idea to invite this many people to his tiny apartment. The apartment that he shares with three other people and five cats, in fact. Éponine marches in right away and introduces herself to Joly and Bossuet, both of whom seem to shake a little in fear, and to Musichetta, who calls her “bitch” before hugging her as if they’ve known each other for their entire lives. Courfeyrac drags in Combeferre, but not before Combeferre can hurriedly greet Grantaire and wave awkwardly at him. 

Bahorel steps in, holding hands with Enjolras’s costume designer, Feuilly. Jehan, the hockey player who sometimes stays behind to watch Grantaire practice after accidentally spraying him with ice when he stopped too abruptly, introduces himself to the rest of them and pushes a flower behind Grantaire’s ear. He grins and gives Jehan a hug because he’s a lovely person and the flower is pretty as well.

When he looks out the window, Grantaire’s breath freezes in his lungs when he notices Enjolras approaching. The man looks like a model in that all black ensemble of his, black coat flapping in the chilly late September air.

“Hey, R. Are you gonna let me in?” Enjolras teases with a grin. Grantaire flushes and steps aside, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious of his own distressed jeans and oversized hoodie. He fiddles with the flower in his hair as Enjolras steps out of his boots and shrugs off his coat. Liberté immediately runs up and meows at him, probably wishing to be picked up and cuddled. Grantaire can relate.

“Sorry for my tardiness. There were a few girls who wanted autographs and pictures when I got off the subway.”

Grantaire plops the cat into Enjolras’s arms and smiles up at him. “That’s nice of you to humor them.”

Enjolras shrugs, “Well, it’s not that big of a deal. Usually when ‘Ponine and I get food after practice, we get a lot more stares. It’s like they think we’re an actual couple or something, so they leave us alone. It’s like they have no idea that she’s a raging lesbian. Actually, it’s not like she wants to make that a known fact because of prejudices and shit anyway.”

As if on cue, aforementioned raging lesbian hollers from Grantaire’s kitchen, “Are you two gonna stand around on the welcome mat forever? It’s a nice mat, I have to admit, but we have stuff to do.”

Grantaire offers a smile and says, “Well, I think you deserve recognition of your own because you’re brilliant… and it’s nice to know that if I ask you for a selfie, you won’t deny me the privilege.”

The lot of them settle down in the living room, draped on top of each other and pressed thigh-to-thigh on the couch. Musichetta and Feuilly pull out a multitude of costumes from garment bags. Everyone oohs and aahs over them, and Grantaire finds himself grinning at his friends’ hard work. He’s known what his own costumes would look like since the beginning, and he certainly had a great time sketching out concepts with Musichetta while his program music played in the background.

Grantaire’s short program costume is a one piece, velvet and soft to the touch, thin enough for his body to breathe, and black adorned with slashes of green. The only part he’s slightly skeptical about is the cutout from the neckline to the middle of his chest, and though it’s covered with mesh, he knows he’ll need to shave his chest for that. Some… liberties were taken with exaggerating his sketches apparently.

Musichetta claps her hands and says, “Ok, R. Now strip!”

Grantaire blows her a kiss while her boyfriends laugh themselves silly. He makes sure to give his ass a little wiggle before he heads to his bedroom to change. Nobody notices how Enjolras stares at him as he sashays away.

When he steps back out, Grantaire twists and turns, pulling at the bottom half of the costume. All the confidence from earlier seems to fade away as he looks at his pants.

“Um, ‘Chetta, these are _really_ tight.”

She grins animalistically, “Yep. Just the way I intended.”

Grantaire frowns, “Oh, God. The judges are gonna be staring at my butt the entire time.”

Courfeyrac snorts from where he’s perched on Combeferre’s lap, “Well, it’s not the worst thing they could be staring at.”

“Courf!” Grantaire exclaims, “Not everyone basically has sex on ice like you do!”

Combeferre goes bright red while Courfeyrac pats his hand reassuringly. “I’m sure they won’t mind at all. In fact, I’m sure they won’t be the only ones not minding.”

Everyone in the room falls silent and makes sure to avert their gazes away from Grantaire’s self, much to his exasperation. He throws his hands up and mutters, “I can’t believe you all.”

Joly pipes up, “You’re sexy, and you should know it. Personally, I stand with ‘Chetta on emphasizing that skating butt of yours.”

Grantaire shakes his head, “Thanks, I guess.”

* * *

Enjolras thinks that he’s rather lucky to be an ice dancer. He’s much too happy to leave the bling and glitter to Éponine while he skates smugly in much more comfortable costumes. Occasionally, Feuilly will stitch some sequins on the shirt to match Éponine’s outfit, but for the most part, dress shirts and pants are definitely fine with him. He never really held an appreciation for costumes until Grantaire came out wearing the most form-fitting clothes in his entire figure skating career.

In their mock fashion show, Courfeyrac makes sure to strut as much as possible, his own costumes glittery and all sorts of colorful. If Grantaire’s short program costume could be considered sexy, Courfeyrac’s are entirely too risqué with cutouts adorning the sides and exposing a large amount of chest. Enjolras supposes they’re fitting for the music he selected, but _wow_ , the confidence.

Almost as soon as Enjolras gets his costume on, Éponine takes a wild leap at him, and he catches her easily, setting her on his shoulder as their cute audience applauds and whistles. As promised, Feuilly did a great job making their free dance costumes red. Enjolras will be eternally grateful for his simple white shirt and red waistcoat. The shirt is billowy and light, imitating nineteenth century clothing, and the trousers are fitted, as per usual. Meanwhile, his partner is in a dress that’s red with black and gold details.

At the end of the day, everyone gets fitted in their costumes, Enjolras stares at Grantaire a bit more (read: a lot more), and now they’re all lazing around, stuffed full of sandwiches that Musichetta lovingly prepared. Terra, another one of Grantaire’s cats, perches herself on Enjolras’s chest as he lies on his back on the fluffy rug. She kneads her paws and purrs as he runs his fingers through her fur.

“Wait, Grantaire. Courf told me about your Instagram. You have pictures of your cats when they were kittens, right?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire perks up and replies, “Yeah. Let’s make an account for you!”

Enjolras sits up, regrettably dislodging the cat, but he sets her in his lap before she could yowl at him. Grantaire scoots over until they’re basically thigh-to-thigh and leans over to peer at Enjolras’s phone. Now effectively invading his personal space, Grantaire’s fluffy hair brushes his chin, and Enjolras inhales in the scent of vanilla and citrus. Without even thinking, he nuzzles the top of his head and puts an arm around his shoulders. He can see Grantaire’s ears turn pink, but his fingers continue to fly across the screen, and when Grantaire turns back around, they end up face-to-face.

“Oh, hello.”

Enjolras grins, “So now I can see all your cat pictures?”

Grantaire nods emphatically, “Yep! And you can follow whatever political accounts you want, blah blah blah.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and squeezes him a little. At this point, Terra had already hopped off his lap, and Grantaire had pretty much immediately replaced her. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta are in their room doing who knows what, while Jehan is enthusiastically talking about hockey to Bahorel and Feuilly, and Courfeyrac is still in his free skate costume much to everyone’s despair. It’s late after a whole morning of practice and an afternoon of excitement, which must be why Grantaire suddenly slumps in Enjolras’s arms, yawning.

“G’night,” he mutters and promptly passes out, leaving Enjolras very confused with a lapful of sleeping Grantaire. He can’t help but brush a lock of hair away from his forehead and stare at Grantaire’s face, dark lashes casting long shadows on his flushed cheeks and pink lips slightly parted. He looks soft and cuddly, and Enjolras immediately dispels that thought from his brain. Given that he needs to get home soon, he has no choice but to curl an arm under Grantaire’s knees and one under his back, lifting him up with a grunt. He’s much heavier than Éponine, but Enjolras somehow manages to carry him all the way to his room. 

Courfeyrac smirks at him, but Enjolras just glares at him as if that would make him shut up. Grantaire hums and turns his face into Enjolras’s chest, tucking himself as close as possible, and Enjolras all but melts into a puddle of goo. Grantaire immediately curls around a pillow when he gets set down and reaches out when Enjolras pulls away. He has to tear himself away, but not before bending down and placing a gentle kiss to his soft cheek.

Enjolras lets himself out of the apartment, pulling on his coat and gloves while Combeferre and Courfeyrac both have knowing evil grins on their faces, as if his suffering is funny to them. He huffs and marches away in the direction of their own apartment, not quite caring if they follow.

Courfeyrac catches up first and grabs Enjolras’s elbow, sidling up to him. “C’mon, Enjo, having a crush is perfectly normal. Especially on a person as lovely as R.”

“Hmph.”

Combeferre comes up on his other side and adds, “You’re being too harsh on yourself. He’s nice and funny and has cute cats. Embrace your feelings wholeheartedly.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Okay, now I’m sure you’re just making fun of me.”

“Or maybe we just want you to be happy, Enj. You’re not just limited to loving your sport, y’know,” Combeferre chides, “You’re passionate about many things, and we all think R can be one of them.”

“He’s not a thing! Grantaire is undoubtedly the best skater I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching-”

“Hey!”

“-and has the most adorable cats, the way he treats his fans, and his goddamn face when he sleeps… _fuck_.”

Enjolras groans into the night air while Courfeyrac and Combeferre both pat him on the back reassuringly, and they walk the rest of the way home without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terminology in this chapter:  
> Short program - the first of two segments of competitions, skated before the free skating program, and it lasts, for both senior and junior singles and pair skaters, 2 minutes and 40 seconds
> 
> There isn't much to define, so here's some clarification:  
> Skating butt - watch [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G2Hz58bSpzI)  
> There's some _history_ against LGBTQ+ people, but for the sake of this fic, it won't be a major plot point.


	5. Making a Prom-ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Competition begins, and Grantaire feels really stressed, for both himself and everyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to [Squid](https://courfeyrank.tumblr.com/) for being an interesting individual to talk to.

The television is loud. Grantaire has the volume as high as possible to make sure he can hear every single thing. Skate America is the first event of the season, and it just so happens to be that Enjolras and Éponine would be competing. While Grantaire can’t be there with them, he makes sure to tune into everything the announcer says about them. He thinks he can even see them, tiny figures in their tricolor tracksuits. The camera pans over to the competitors right before their warm-up, and his breath catches when he sees his friends. They’re at the boards talking to Coach Lamarque, and he desperately wants to be there with them, to witness their first skate of the season.

Lots are drawn, and the first group of skaters warm up on the ice. No sight of blond hair. Grantaire has seen bits and pieces of their program from when he arrives at the rink early on purpose, but never the entire thing in all its glory. He thinks he hears music from _Phantom of the Opera_ blaring out of the speakers sometimes, but that’s definitely for the free dance.

The Canadian team skates first, every move practiced and flawless and perfectly in sync. Their dance lifts are amazing too, the guy lifting the petite girl and holding her upside-down easily. Of course, they currently rank first after that performance, but Grantaire sincerely hopes Enjolras and Éponine can beat them.

Halfway through, Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta come out as a unit, curling around Grantaire on the couch. He hasn’t moved in the entire hour the rhythm dance has been streamed so far. He’s curled up into a ball of anxiety with a cat, and he isn’t even skating at this event. Grantaire jumps when the screen stops displaying ads and the announcer’s voice interrupts.

“From France, please welcome Éponine Thénardier and Julien Enjolras! They will be skating to ‘Libertango’ by Astor Piazzolla.”

Grantaire nearly swallows his own saliva. He was really not expecting that much chest to be exposed, but it’s just his luck that Enjolras looks hot in a fitted black button-down with the collar open. Éponine’s in a matching costume with her hair up in a tight bun, and Grantaire curses his bisexuality sometimes because she pulls it off just as well. It’s definitely refreshing to see a drastic change from all the dresses and skirts, especially for a tango.

Enjolras and Éponine’s skate is full of power, performing intricate ballroom steps on ice, and Grantaire curses at the camera for not following their every move and zooming in so he could see their facial expressions. He pulls his knees in tighter and buries his face in Thor’s orange fur, feeling Joly’s hand rub at his back. By the end of the program, Grantaire’s head is in Musichetta’s lap, and she’s scratching lightly at his scalp while he stares wide-eyed at the TV.

Joly gives him a hug when Enjolras and Éponine launch into a combination spin, “Aww, R, you aren’t worried for them, are you?”

Grantaire huffs, “Of course not!”

Musichetta grins at him, sharklike, and coos, “Look at our boy. He’s blushing!”

Bossuet pinches his cheek, and Grantaire cuddles into the three of them, pouting. Onscreen, the cameraperson finally zooms in on Enjolras’s face, and his expression is simultaneously liberating and extremely focused as he twizzles across the ice alongside Éponine.

It’s all over sooner than Grantaire would like, and when they are settled at the kiss and cry, Enjolras stares straight into the camera. It’s as if he knows that Grantaire is watching and gives a little half smile. Grantaire stares back and _yearns_.

A week later is Grantaire’s turn to skate at Skate Canada International, and the entire event seems to go by in a blur. He watches the Russians and the Japanese anxiously, waiting for his turn. He should definitely turn away and plug in his earbuds, but they’re too mesmerizing to look away from. The thought of not being good enough niggles at the back of Grantaire’s brain, but he rushes to dispel it, knowing that he’s done everything he can, and that it shouldn’t really matter whether he medals or not.

When it’s time for his short program, Grantaire locks eyes with Jehan in the audience, who graciously offered to watch since he had to do hockey business in the same place. His auburn hair is easily spotted in the stands, and Grantaire receives two thumbs up in return for a tentative smile. He sheds his jacket, briefly hears Coach Lamarque say something that goes in one ear and out the other, and steps out onto the ice.

“From France, Louis Grantaire, skating to ‘Thunderstruck’, as performed by 2CELLOS.”

The introduction to the skate is the calm before the storm, and Grantaire can feel everyone’s eyes on him as he quickly transitions into a spin combination in sync with the acceleration in the music. In the span of what seems like mere seconds, it’s triple jump after quadruple jump after step sequence, and finally, he’s dripping sweat onto the ice in his final pose. Cat plushies immediately hit the ice as he bows for the judges and the audience.

Coach Lamarque hands him his jacket and a water bottle as he slides on his guards, patting his back. Grantaire closes his eyes and tries to envision what his scores could be and comes up blank. Minutes that seem like hours later, the scoreboard announces that he’s in third, behind two Russian skaters. It’s okay, and he still has the free skate to try and bump his score up anyway.

Days later, Grantaire is back in Paris with a bunch of cat plushies from his fans, whom he loves very much, and a bronze medal. Joly is the first to squeeze him tightly in a hug, squealing about how they watched him on TV and are so proud of him. Grantaire, jetlagged, winces at the noise but offers a sleepy smile.

“Hey guys. I feel like I can sleep for a week.”

Coach Lamarque says, “Go home, R. You deserve it.”

* * *

Enjolras knows he’s being absurd. Watching Grantaire skate on live television makes him wonder about what he’s doing wrong. Grantaire skates with a passion, somehow making even the most dissonant of music seem lyrical with his lines. Sure, some of it could be attributed to his background in ballet and Bahorel’s help, but Enjolras knows for a fact that it’s Grantaire. Maybe that’s why he’s slightly jealous. It’s ridiculous given that they’re in two different disciplines and don’t even compete against each other, but there’s a love Grantaire has that he doesn’t.

The group makes the trip to Grenoble for the Internationaux de France, and arrive at the hotel. Courfeyrac, Enjolras, and Grantaire get dumped in a room together while Éponine wiggles her fingers and disappears into her own room. Courfeyrac immediately jumps onto the bed closest to the window and takes a picture of the view, probably to send to Combeferre or to post to Instagram. Clearly, he claims a bed for his own, leaving the other two to look awkwardly at the walls.

The first day of events goes smoothly, Enjolras watching Grantaire skate, and his breath catches when Grantaire tosses a rogue grin to the audience. He can’t remember the last time Grantaire has been completely clean-shaven because even at Skate Canada, he had a bit of scruff remaining. It makes him look younger and a little wilder, completely fitting the music he chose. His blue eyes are emphasized by black and green graphic eyeliner which Enjolras knows he did it himself. It’s all a bit too much for him to handle. The rhythm dance goes equally as well, bringing Enjolras and Éponine to the top.

That night, Enjolras stays awake, trying hard to drift off but achingly aware of Grantaire next to him. They had initially agreed to face separate directions and just fucking sleep without the underlying awkwardness, but Enjolras can only hear Courfeyrac snoring from his bed, probably starfished across the entire thing.

Enjolras makes the executive decision to talk about the thoughts swimming in his brain and whispers, “R.”

Grantaire turns over and blinks open his blue eyes, and Enjolras tries not to stare at how his cheek gets squished by the pillow. It’s kind of shocking how Grantaire on the ice is such a different character from Grantaire off the ice.

“How do you do it?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire’s expression becomes full of confusion, “What?”

“Skate so well.”

He frowns, “Same as you, I guess. Put one foot in front of the other and twirl.”

“No, you don’t get it. I can skate, obviously, but you seem to dance. Which is kind of ironic considering I actually compete in ice dance.”

“I don’t know, Enj. It just happens.”

Enjolras, now a bit frustrated and definitely not anywhere near sleep, can blame nobody but himself when his tongue, sharp as ever, forgets to filter itself.

“Clearly quitting ‘just happens’ too, then.”

And oh, he regrets even opening his mouth when Grantaire’s expressive, lovely face floods with embarrassment and shame and _hurt_. There’s also a hint of disappointment in his eyes, as if annoyed that Enjolras is still hung up over the fact that Grantaire deprived the world of his beautiful skating during the previous season.

“I don’t even know why you’re asking me this. You’re perfect, clearly,” Grantaire says and turns back over, curling into a ball. For once, Enjolras doesn’t know what to do. All he wants is to pull him close and apologize in a manner that wouldn’t seem fake. He decides to wait until morning when their minds are clear and ends up falling asleep to the cadence of Grantaire’s breathing.

It seems like the only one affected by their conversation last night is Enjolras. Grantaire skates as beautifully as ever, and Enjolras has a hard time focusing on his movements in favor of staring at his face.

The free dance doesn’t go well, to say the least. Enjolras nearly drops Éponine during a lift, and their twizzles are all over the place. It’s all because his mind is occupied by Grantaire’s words. Skating should be simple, as he had mentioned last night, but Enjolras is thinking about it, thinking too much. He knows that he should just let the music take over, but there’s too much going on in his mind. It’s a turmoil that’s never ending. He sinks to the ice in his final pose, Éponine next to him with her arms stretched upwards, and he sinks a little further, the weight of their performance on his shoulders.

In the end, they still manage to secure a spot in the Grand Prix Final, pulling ahead of the American team by a few points, and Enjolras sighs in relief that this had not been the actual Final. He apologizes to Éponine and to Coach Lamarque, but they merely offer reassuring smiles. Enjolras almost wishes they would yell at him, tell him to do better. It’s not them who do it.

As soon as they leave the rink, Grantaire marches over, with a determined look on his face. It’s foreign, but still causes Enjolras’s heart to stutter. Briefly, he thinks that Grantaire looks hot like this and quickly waves away the thought. Grantaire reaches out and shakes Enjolras by the shoulders. It would seem almost comical since Enjolras is almost a head taller than him, but he manages to yank Enjolras down until they can stare face-to-face.

“Stop skating for others,” Grantaire cries as he stares imploringly into Enjolras’s eyes, “Skate for yourself. Fuck the rules that bind you, just do what you want. Fucking hell, I know you’re better than you think you are. I’ve watched you since before I crashed into your arms that day, and I haven’t been able to stop. We have all seen you and Éponine perform for the judges, but now we need to see _you and Éponine_.”

Enjolras looks at this man who literally stumbled into his life, and feels the urge to hug him, to comfort him, even as he’s being properly chastised. He does exactly that. Grantaire melts in his arms, eagerly returning the hug while Enjolras strokes his hair and kisses the top of his head. 

Grantaire pulls away to point an accusing finger in Enjolras’s face and continues, “And don’t even _think_ about getting on my ass for taking a gap year. I could barely pull myself together to find something unique. Valjean was getting too lenient on me, and I was getting tired. But I’ll never get tired of you, and at a risk of sounding extremely cheesy and cliché, stop letting others dull your glow, Enjolras.”

“Alright, R.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terminology in this chapter:  
> Skate America - an international, senior-level figure skating competition held as part of the ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating series  
> Free dance - a segment of an ice dance competition, the second contested in which a creative dance program blending dance steps and movements expresses the character and rhythm of the dance music chosen by the couple  
> Combination spin - a spin performed as above after which one change of foot is made by both partners simultaneously and further rotations occur  
> Skate Canada International - an international, senior-level invitation-only figure skating competition organized by Skate Canada  
> Free skate - the second of two segments of competitions, skated after the short program and lasting four minutes for senior skaters and teams  
> Spin combination - a spin in at least two different basic positions with two revolutions in each of these positions anywhere within the spin  
> Triple jump - a jump with three revolutions  
> Quadruple jump - a jump with four revolutions  
> Step sequence - a series of prescribed or un-prescribed steps, turns and movements  
> Internationaux de France - an international, senior-level figure skating competition held as part of the ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating series


	6. A Sight for Sore Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire tries to get in some extra practice before the Grand Prix Final.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to [Zoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleep_deprived_writer/pseuds/sleep_deprived_writer) for being supportive and kind.

_Triple Axel, quad toe, right into crossovers_ , Grantaire thinks as he prepares to start his practice session. After placing second at Internationaux de France, he needs to step up his game and maybe continue the trend to placing first at the Grand Prix Final. His muscles ache at the thought of stepping onto the ice again, but he ignores their screaming in favor of skating a quick lap around the rink. He plugs in his earbuds, turning the volume up until he can barely hear the sound of his blades scraping the ice under the opera blasting into his ears.

The orchestra ringing in his ears swells as Grantaire performs a combination spin. It’s muscle memory by now, and he doesn’t even think twice about leaping into a quadruple loop, hugging his arms close to his body. His exit is smooth, and each move in the step sequence comes as naturally to him as breathing. He’s thankful to Bahorel for all the dance classes when he does a spiral, one leg easily lifted above his head.

Grantaire’s free skate music runs out, and his phone automatically shuffles to his Queen playlist. He’s too lazy to put on his short program music, so he decides to do some improvising. He does a simple split jump into a flying sit spin, skating aimlessly in circles for a moment. A quadruple flip is attempted, and Grantaire falls on his ass, but he doesn’t stop to brush the ice shavings off before prepping for another quad.

After skating for a solid hour, he makes sure nobody is watching when he lies on the ice and stares at the ceiling, blinded by the artificial lights. He thinks about the season so far, the number of times he’s fallen, both on ice and for Enjolras. Grantaire thinks about him a lot, of when he stopped being someone to only admire from afar to becoming one of his closest friends. He thinks about his friends a lot too, new and old. Grantaire hasn’t been able to see them all at once recently with competition after competition and all of his time being spent either in bed or at the rink. He barely even gets to pet his cats anymore, for God’s sake!

He thinks he must have fallen asleep on the ice for a moment because suddenly his short program music is playing through his earbuds. Grantaire shakes the ice out of his hair just in time to catch the end of the intro. The music is energizing, an adrenaline shock into his system amplified further by the fast paced step sequence that Lamarque had choreographed.

Grantaire can’t contain his excitement when he lands jump after jump, and it feels like he’s flying. He missed this, the thrill of feeling weightless. Sure, his tailbone is probably all bruised up by now, but it’s so worth it. He feels like he can be free on the ice, and all the energy he pours into it supports him and lifts him up as he skates.

“Thunderstruck” finishes with one last flourish of a chord, and Grantaire heaves a breath, taking in his surroundings before coming back to his senses. His playlist shuffles again and suddenly, he’s listening to Tchaikovsky. Namely, his free skate music from the year he finally became tired. It’s torturous to listen to, bringing back memories he’s been desperately trying to forget. The finale of Tchaikovsky’s fifth symphony, an end to a brilliant piece of music and a temporary end to Grantaire’s skating career.

All the movements come rushing back to him, and his body performs the program from beginning to end without his permission. Grantaire laughs to himself when he stumbles a bit, totally not minding one bit. He adds a twirl here and a jump there, making the choreography entirely his own. Eventually, he’s not even skating the program anymore. It’s just him and the empty rink and Tchaikovsky’s music. Grantaire kneels at the end, offering himself to an imaginary person in front of him, eyes closed. He pants, feeling the air whoosh out of his lungs with each exhale. Breathless giggles erupt out of his mouth, and he covers his eyes, starting to feel a little lightheaded and teary.

Sudden applause causes Grantaire to open his eyes and startle, almost yanking the earbuds out of his ears. Out of all people to come to the rink when he’s practicing, of course it’s Enjolras.

* * *

Enjolras thought he could get an extra practice in before Coach Lamarque gets on his ass about what happened in Grenoble, but Éponine mentioned something about catching up with one Marius Pontmercy earlier. As a result, Enjolras is at the rink entrance alone but still feeling the urge to practice a bit.

He would already be on the ice and warmed up had the rink not been occupied. Enjolras has his head down, aimlessly scrolling through Instagram on his phone, when he hears the tell-tale scratch of blades on the ice. He looks up suddenly and nearly drops his water bottle. Leaning against the wall, he just watches as Grantaire performs spin after spin, skating to the silence in the rink. Enjolras is in a trance, mesmerized by the fluid movements (and definitely not by the way Grantaire sticks his butt out for balance when he does backward crossovers).

The skating is beautiful and emotional, and Enjolras’s heart hurts at the tortured expression on Grantaire’s face. Each move is practiced and graceful, and Enjolras vaguely recognizes the whole thing suddenly, the urge to burst into tears in sympathy. Grantaire’s face eventually relaxes into a serene expression, his eyes still closed. Enjolras can only watch in awe as Grantaire, who isn’t only a figure skater but an _artist_ , transforms something that initially hurt him into something breathtaking.

Grantaire kneels in a final pose, and Enjolras just has to applaud. He’s never seen anything like that, even from the talented Russians who perform heavily backloaded routines or the Japanese who skate as fluidly as water. This is Grantaire, _R_ , bared to an audience he doesn’t even know is watching.

The gasp of surprise he lets out is _adorable_ , and Enjolras wants to keep this moment to himself forever. They’re just staring at each other now, blue eyes locked into blue eyes, and he can see that Grantaire is blushing in his curiosity. Enjolras keeps his face blank, slipping off his red guards and pushing onto the ice. Seeing the uncertainty in Grantaire’s eyes, he briefly thinks, _Oh, my heart. You shouldn’t have to be afraid of me._

It’s only the two of them in the middle of the expanse of ice, and Enjolras reaches out tentatively, and Grantaire whimpers before leaping into his arms. They’re both crying messily, tears definitely staining both their shirts as Grantaire buries his face in Enjolras’s shoulder, and Enjolras clutches him tightly, nearly lifting him off the ice. They calm down from their emotional high and grin stupidly at each other.

“Beautiful. You are brilliant, R,” Enjolras breathes. He impulsively stretches a hand out in an unspoken invitation. He watches patiently as Grantaire’s eyes dart between it and his face, as if gauging his expression on whether he’s being serious or not. In the end, Grantaire tentatively places his own hand in Enjolras’s and yelps when he’s suddenly tugged into his arms. Enjolras marvels at how small his hands are, yet he knows how capable they are.

“Dance with me,” Enjolras speaks in a low voice, bending to reach Grantaire’s ear, “I cringed saying that, but just skate with me, please.”

He delights in Grantaire’s tiny shiver, a sign that he may be as affected as himself. Enjolras nearly misses Grantaire’s miniscule nod of consent when he hovers his hand near his waist. It just feels so _easy_ to hold him, to lead him in a series of steps that they come up with in the moment. They’re not really doing anything remotely like what they would perform in their respective disciplines, and it’s more ridiculous than serious with them just swinging their legs as they skate laps around the rink. Occasionally, Grantaire will execute a silly little twirl and crash into the boards, effectively making Enjolras laugh. At some point, they play leapfrog across the width of the rink and fall into a pile, giggling.

“Olympic pairs figure skating, here we come,” Grantaire gasps in the midst of his laughter.

Enjolras looks over at him, at how his eyes seem to twinkle with mirth and how his cheeks are flushed a bright pink, either from laughing himself silly or from the cold air. He just has to ask, “May I kiss you?”

Grantaire is still smiling, but now it’s softer, and in an equally soft voice, he answers, “I wish you would.”

Enjolras offers a hand, and Grantaire takes it, pushing up on his toe picks to reach roughly the same height and throwing his arms around Enjolras’s neck. Enjolras wraps his arms around his waist and closes the miniscule distance between them. Grantaire’s lips are cold and slightly chapped, but Enjolras finds himself wanting more, so he licks along his bottom lip, biting down slightly. Without breaking the kiss, Enjolras moves his hands down slightly and lifts him up. The small moan Grantaire let out quickly becomes a noise of surprise, but he holds on tightly and wraps his legs around Enjolras’s waist, careful to cross his ankles so he doesn't accidentally slice him with his blades.

“You’re going to kill me one day, Monsieur,” Grantaire pants into Enjolras’s mouth.

Enjolras can only take one glance at his red cheeks and equally red mouth, decide that that exact hue is now his favorite color, and think that _no_ , Grantaire’s going to be the death of him. He brings them back to the boards, so he can push Grantaire up against them and go back to kissing him.

When they break apart, Enjolras blurts into the air between them, “God, I love you. Oh fuck.”

Grantaire reaches up to cup his face and press a sweet kiss to his cheek, replying, “I love you too.”

If Enjolras and Grantaire, two adults with professional careers on ice, leave the rink giddy and skipping hand-in-hand, well, that’s their business and nobody else’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terminology in this chapter:  
> Toe loop - a toe-assisted jump that takes off from the back outside edge  
> Spiral - an edge skated with the free leg extended at or above hip level  
> Split jump - a jump in the air in which a split is achieved, rather than any specific rotation  
> Flying sit spin - a jump that lands in a spin position with the spinning leg bent at the knee and the free leg extended forward  
> Flip - a toe jump that takes off from a back inside edge and lands on the back outside edge of the opposite foot  
> Backloading - a scoring system that awards a 10% bonus to difficult moves performed toward the end, based on the idea that it's easier to land jumps early in a program when the skater is fresh  
> Pairs figure skating - a figure skating discipline defined by the International Skating Union as the skating of two persons in unison who perform their movements in such harmony with each other  
> Toe picks - the teeth at the front of a skate blade that assists a skater in jumps and spins


	7. Serving Just-ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire is in bliss, and he gets his happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to [Mia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catstrophysics) for being our awesome [server](https://discord.com/invite/vERrqvA) admin who makes this hoeshold worth staying in.
> 
> Warning for brief mention of panic attacks.

Grantaire literally feels like he’s floating on a cloud. There’s nothing that can weigh him down, not even the pressure of the Grand Prix Final. Especially since Enjolras has been a constant in the week between that fateful day at the rink and the upcoming event. There’s nothing quite as exhilarating as waking up to a kiss every morning and going to bed cuddled in his arms. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta all congratulate them by piling on top of them, Bossuet claiming he’s seen this coming from a mile away and the other two patting his back and saying, “Sure you did.”

At the rink, Courfeyrac tackles them both in a hug, squealing about how they are the absolute cutest couple in the history of figure skating and how any judges who dare knock them down a few points just because they’re “super gay and super in love” with each other will find themselves tied up and in danger of being on the receiving end of his “knife shoes”. Courfeyrac, ladies and gentlemen. A marvel to the community.

The others are more subdued with the exception of one very enthusiastic congratulations from Bahorel and Éponine trying to give them both the shovel talk at once. It doesn’t quite have the effect she probably wants because she just ends up threatening them both if they even _think_ about breaking up. It’s totally fine with Grantaire, especially since he loves Enjolras very much and wouldn’t even dream of leaving his very sexy arms. One look at Enjolras tells him that he’s just as besotted, and Grantaire just has to blush and reach up for a kiss because of that.

The week of the Grand Prix Final rolls around, and everyone is as tense as a wire, susceptible to snap at any time. Grantaire still gets his fair share of cuddles, but a lot of time gets dedicated to the rink, to smoothing out any rough edges. He posts more cat pictures than usual as a way of alleviating the buildup of stress. His tagged posts increase exponentially as more and more people notice him and Enjolras together, and he scrolls through them at the rink in Turin, Italy.

While he’s staring at his phone, he bumps into someone and lets out an “oof”. (He really should stop accidentally bumping into people, for goodness’s sake. He fell in love with the last person he crashed into.)

“Oh, I’m so sorry- _R?_ ”

His head jerks up, snapping to attention at hearing his name, “Cosette? Oh my God!”

Cosette hugs him tightly, before wishing him luck and heading for the stands. He watches her settle next to Éponine and introduce herself. _How interesting_ , Grantaire thinks, but he’s mostly focused on Enjolras’s golden hair and nice side profile as he prepares to skate. His short program goes exceptionally well, bumping everyone else down as he takes the rank of first. 

On the second day, he’s pulling on the top half of his costume, puffy sleeves and green waistcoat almost a comfort at this point. In the midst of the warm-up, Grantaire can’t help but notice the perfect quads that his competitors are executing, and even stares longingly at Courfeyrac’s well-executed layback spin for a moment. He tries pushing down any feelings of doubt and manages to repress them long enough, right until he watches the person before him skate. Suddenly, all those unwelcome thoughts suddenly break free, and Grantaire is immediately overcome with the urge to just leave. He starts feeling a little choked up, and out of the corner of his eye, he briefly registers Enjolras exiting the stands.

_Oh, God. He probably doesn’t want to see me fuck up again_ , he thinks, and it’s all Grantaire can do to keep himself from crying. He can vaguely register some heated words being exchanged behind him through all the noise in his head, and all of a sudden, very familiar arms surround him. Of course, Enjolras wouldn’t leave him. Of course, Enjolras would argue with the officials surrounding the entrance to the ice and shield him from probing cameras.

“Shh, you’re going to do amazingly. You’ll skate beautifully, my love. I’ll be watching, and Éponine, and all our friends, and we’ll all be in awe of you,” Enjolras murmurs in his ear while rubbing soothing circles into his back before bending down to drop a kiss into his hair.

Grantaire laughs wetly, clutching his boyfriend as tightly as possible, and says, “Well, now you jinxed it. Thanks, but also shoo.”

Enjolras makes eye contact with him, clutching his arm before he can move to the entrance, “You believe me, don’t you?”

He would look down if there wasn’t a warm and gentle hand on his cheek, tilting his face upwards, so instead, he replies, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I do.”

Enjolras’s face lights up in a smile, and they kiss, which definitely gets documented by a rogue camera. However, Grantaire couldn’t find it in himself to give two shits about it. Enjolras ducks away and takes his seat next to Éponine, who gives Grantaire two thumbs up and a wink. As he’s about to step onto the ice, Courfeyrac comes up and whisper-yells, “Good luck,” punctuating it with a solid smack to his ass.

“From France, Louis Grantaire, skating to ‘Votre Toast’ from the opera, _Carmen._ ”

Grantaire takes his starting position, poised to launch into a dizzying combination spin as soon as the music starts. He’s aware of all the eyes on him, and stays aware as he skates, but it doesn’t bother him this time. There’s only him, the ice, the sport he loves, and the man he loves. This season has given him so much, he would be remiss if he screwed up and lost his chance at giving back to it. His thoughts escape him as he performs flawless jump after flawless jump, and it’s all over. Grantaire’s head is turned to the side, right arm extended outward and then the entire rink is silent before erupting into applause.

He runs a shaky hand through his dislodged curls, grimacing a bit when he gets a disgusting handful of sweat and gel, but puts on a smile as he bows graciously at the judges and at his audience. A torrent of cat plushies fall onto the ice like rain, most of which land along the edge of the ice. Right as Grantaire straightens back up, one particularly large fluffball smacks him right in the face, almost making him fall back over. It causes him to look up and search the stands for the source. Of course, there’s his boyfriend, grinning wildly, and he just knows who threw it. How he managed to hide it, Grantaire has absolutely no idea. Still in the middle of the rink, he looks at the cute toy in his hands and yep, attached is a tiny piece of paper that reads, _Skate for yourself, my love._

Grantaire hides his teary grin in the plushie’s soft fuzz as he moves off the ice and toward the kiss and cry. Lamarque is a comforting presence by his side, and there’s a sudden feeling of déjà vu, especially when he looks up and the scoreboard reads:

_Louis GRANTAIRE_ _335.76_ _1_

“Oh my fucking God. Holy fuck, nope.”

The applause is deafening, and he definitely bursts into joyous tears, wiping them discreetly on the sleeve of his tracksuit jacket. Grantaire inhales deeply, squeezes his plushie that somehow smells like Enjolras’s cologne, and smiles, feeling relieved, like all the time and effort dedicated to his art was finally worth it.

* * *

Enjolras and Éponine skate a tiny circle around each other, preparing themselves for their free dance. They give each other miniscule nods and make deliberate eye contact as the announcer finishes his little spiel. The opening chords of their _Phantom of the Opera_ medley play, and Enjolras nearly laughs at how dramatic the whole thing is. It starts with arms tossed into the air straight into a spin, legs parallel to each other. When he lifts his partner, Éponine twists in his arms, and he supports her as she literally dangles upside-down for a second or two. They listen to the guy sing while they perform an intricate step sequence before Enjolras has to mentally and physically prepare himself.

Without a second of hesitation, he lifts Éponine again, extending one leg out until she can place one leg on the dip in his waist and the blade of her other skate on his calf, arms spread out for balance. Sure, it hurts as they skate backwards as a singular unit, but they’ve practiced this move so many times that Enjolras doesn’t even think twice about it. The audience bursts into applause when they exit out of the lift, and Enjolras can see the faux pain etched on Éponine’s face as she runs a hand down his side.

The music transitions into something more dramatic again, and the blood is pounding in Enjolras’s ears, forcing him to spin a little faster and travel a little further, adrenaline pumping. As if on the same wavelength, Éponine follows him exactly. It’s almost electrifying, the athleticism of the program and the way Enjolras can only hear the dual sounds of their blades moving across the ice in tandem. He and Éponine are like two ends of the same magnet, supporting and bouncing motions off each other as the strings accelerate at a frenetic pace.

The ending is incredible, if Enjolras does say so himself. A lift turns into a spin with Éponine across his shoulders and grabbing each other's arms, so they could pull themselves back in, the two of them finishing strong. Enjolras vaguely processes jumping over Éponine’s crouched body at some point, still legal for ice dance, and into his final pose. One leg extended and the other leg on the ice, he falls over in a pique of drama, hands clutched to his heart as if shot. Éponine’s arms are raised in the air, almost like she’s celebrating a triumph.

“Representing France, Éponine Thénardier and Julien Enjolras.”

The two of them hug, both sweaty and gross but still coasting on the high of a solid performance. Enjolras twirls Éponine into their bows, and his eyes are drawn to those of his boyfriend, who’s grinning so broadly that he’s afraid Grantaire’s face will be stuck like that forever. It does make him smile, though, so maybe it isn’t so bad after all.

Saturday is the medal ceremony, and Enjolras and Grantaire wear their gold medals like cringeworthy athletes through an annoying amount of interviews, but they can’t bring themselves to care. Enjolras doesn’t even think about it twice before hugging Grantaire, picking him up off the floor and spinning him around when they’re back in their shared room.

Sunday is the exhibition gala, and Enjolras thinks he’s a hundred percent prepared to see whatever Grantaire’s going to show off to the rest of the world. He had refused to take off his tracksuit earlier, claiming that he is going to be “changing it up,” and hid in the bathroom until Lamarque came to get them, so Enjolras was left completely in the dark.

As it turns out, Enjolras is not as prepared as he thought he was because Grantaire, the little shit who apparently looks amazing in green eyeshadow and bold red lipstick, always keeps him on his toes and might actually give him a heart attack at some point. Of course, his boyfriend would take Éponine’s advice to heart and wear leather pants as well in an active ploy to see the death of him. _Of fucking course._ It’s all much too fitting for his choice of music as well. “I Want to Break Free” by Queen hits a little too close to home, but Enjolras appreciates the notion (and also Grantaire’s thighs and butt in those pants).

A flirtatious smile gets tossed to the audience, and Enjolras thinks he’s going to die. He knows what’s going to go on his tombstone now: _Death by sexy figure skating because one (1) Grantaire is actively trying to kill him._ Enjolras thought he was immune to sexy figure skating, what with Courfeyrac being one of his best friends, but he’s the absolute opposite of being immune to anything involving Grantaire apparently.

Now that he’s allowed to ogle a little, Enjolras finds it impossible to look away. The confidence radiating off of Grantaire onto the ice is overwhelming, and his heart actually seizes up a little at how much he loves this person. He loves all of Grantaire so much, his adorable little noises when he wakes up, the way he blushes when someone compliments him, his cheeky grin when he makes fun of Enjolras for his political ranting when they’re out on a date, and of course, his beautiful skating. Enjolras has to restrain himself from marching right onto the ice and interrupting his amazing, kind, funny, sweet boyfriend, who’s in the middle of a complicated step sequence, and squishing him in a hug.

Grantaire’s marvelous performance is over much too soon for Enjolras’s liking, but all he really wants to do is kiss him. So he does. In the middle of Grantaire’s exit from the rink and in front of all those cameras streaming the gala to the rest of the world as well as all the ISU officials. Enjolras watches as his blue eyes go dark, and the lipstick must be all over Enjolras’s mouth at this point. Still, Grantaire reaches up to fix Enjolras’s blond hair to the best of his ability before smacking a solid kiss to his cheek, definitely leaving a print in the shape of his lips. Unfortunately, Enjolras has his exhibition skate in just a few minutes, and Éponine is tapping her foot impatiently against the rubber padding.

With one last hug, Grantaire looks into Enjolras’s eyes and tells him, “Knock ‘em dead, darling!”

He acknowledges Grantaire with a salute, takes those words to heart, and doesn’t look back as he strides onto the ice. The music starts, and Enjolras takes an audacious leap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terminology in this chapter:  
> Layback spin - a spin position in which the back is arched and head dropped back, the free leg bent behind, and the arms often stretched to the ceiling or arched overhead
> 
> There isn't much to be defined in this chapter, so have this [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLakqW6UI1PpQYUm2z_iMgNJbzz5mPmYKj) of music and other videos that inspired this fic.
> 
> Some parting notes: I hope you enjoyed it because it was fun for me, and this has been a short, but marvelous, journey.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find my Tumblr [here](http://cx-shhhh.tumblr.com/)! I post a lot of memes and stuff, so maybe something will catch your interest. Feel free to send me an ask or rant about how adorable Grantaire is.


End file.
